Tumgik
#Cod Ghost x reader
ohmygraves · 2 months
Text
after one of your leave, you came back to work with a ring around your finger.
you didn't mention it to anyone, and people simply noticed it when talking to you or handing you things. they congratulated you, talking about the ring. you nervously brushed it off, trying to explain it.
ghost didn't know about it either, and when he overheard someone talking about it, he dropped his mug of tea on the floor, the pieces scattering around the place.
this was such a shock to someone who had planned to propose to you.
well, propose might be a bit too far, considering you two are not even dating. he wanted to say it, but things were a little too hectic and he didn't have the guts to ask you out and moreover you're not sure if you'd like him... even if you two have been friends in the taskforce for years.
then again, in his mind, you two are practically an old married couple.
he was clearly upset by this, ignoring you and trying to push you away. he was undoubtedly hurt. did you elope with someone? why didn't you tell him? invite him to the party? did your "friendship" with him mean nothing at all?
ghost was snappy, in a terrible mood overall. he snaps at johnny, yells at gaz, and even glares at price. he was constantly on edge and it's starting to piss you off. so you confront him.
"what the hell's up with you?"
he didn't feel like humoring you, sitting down all irritated over his meal instead.
"you've been avoiding me all week, snapping at people... did i do something wrong?"
so he went off at you.
"wanna know what's wrong? you. coming back to base with a bloody ring. let me guess, you eloped with someone? is that it?" he hissed, "and here i thought i'd propose, that's out of the fuckin' window now."
you sat there, taking his words in. "... it's a fidget ring?"
you showed your hand to him, using your fingers to spin the little parts of your ring. he didn't realize how you've been fidgeting with it, or how you explained to people over and over that you're not married or engaged.
all of the sudden ghost felt like his blood ran cold, not only because he just acted so stupid jealous over a trinket, he basically admitted that he wanted to marry you.
"... wait, you wanted to propose to me?"
9K notes · View notes
peppermint-toads · 3 months
Text
thinking about simon christmas shopping for you at sephora.
he went into your shared bathroom before he left, going through your skincare/haircare to see what brands you like so he didn’t have to ask you.
he didn’t know what a summer friday was or why you needed so much of it, but he didn’t mind. he certainly didn’t mind spending the money. his military salary was far too much to keep to himself.
in fact, he loved to spoil you.
and he definitely wasn’t embarrassed going into sephora by himself. admittedly though, it was unfamiliar territory.
“uh, charlotte tilbury?” he grumbled, taking the salesgirl a little by surprise.
she led him to the display, swinging her hips on the way.
“is it for your mom?” she asked, batting her eyes up at him.
“wife, actually.” she visibly sunk, leaving him to pick out essentially one of each product on the shelves. he even went as far as to swatch a couple things when he wasn’t quite sure what your shade would be.
and no, you weren’t his wife. yet. but that was another christmas gift he’d planned for this year.
simon had no problem spending upwards of one thousand dollars on makeup and skincare for you. didn’t even flinch. he just tapped his card and gave the cashier a satisfied smile.
11K notes · View notes
sgtgarricks · 20 days
Text
simon riley isn’t the biggest pet person. he’s on deployment a lot, so he doesn’t think he’d be a good pet parent. he’s also not too keen on getting slobbered on.
you, on the other hand, are a proud owner of three chunky cats. you’ve had them for years now and can’t imagine your life without them. on one of your dates, you had asked simon if he was a cat person or a dog person.
he said he doesn’t really like pets.
you contemplated ending things there, but you really liked him and you hoped your cats were adorable enough to change his mind. the moment he stepped foot in your apartment, he was immediately bombarded by your furry babies. you don’t know what you expected, but you didn’t expect him to freeze up, trying not to move as your cats smelled and licked at his fingers.
fast forward a year later, simon has become a constant in your life. when he’s not in the field, he’s at your place lounging around. he has a key since he’s there so often anyways.
after one rainy, shitty day at work, all you wanted to do was lay under the blankets and cuddle up to your man. when you open the door to your bedroom, you’re greeted with a sight that warms your heart.
Tumblr media
he may not have chosen to be a cat parent, but your cats seem to have chosen him <3
4K notes · View notes
sweet-as-an-angel · 3 months
Text
Simon Riley is a Messy Eater
TW: 18+, Smut, Fem! Reader
He's sloppy and all-consuming when he eats you out, making obscene sounds as he drinks your juices, tongue slithering between your folds while his nose bumps your clit, sending electricity bolting through you. He's unrelenting in his pace, rabid in his need to have you crying beneath his touch.
When your back arches against his face, begging to take him deeper, he presses you back down onto the mattress with a large, calloused hand.
"Easy, Sweetness," he says, panting. He licks a glob of your juice from the corner of his lip. The bottom half of his face glistens with your essence, his hair slicked back with sweat, and his eyes are dark with promise. The sight is enough to make you clench around nothing. His gaze flicks down to your tightening lips. He purrs.
"We can do this all night."
6K notes · View notes
sketchyfandomgirl · 2 months
Text
Simon “Ghost” Riley who gets terrible acne when he goes for days on end without taking his mask off. He gets so sweaty and gross that when it finally come off, Simon has a terrible breakout and it can take days to clean it all up.
That’s why he turns to you, probably the only other member of 141 who has a good skin care other than Gaz, but he won’t let the kid know he’s got acne.
He also trusts you more to find something that agrees with his skin and even goes on a shopping trip with you to pick out something he might like, and a few others to try with your expertise. The man is so confused reading every label as you work through the aisles like it’s the back of your hand. It makes his head dizzy thinking about it too much.
And no Simon, do not pay too much attention to the bunny ears headband, it’s not that important, look at this clay mask instead! It’ll help with pores!
When it’s all over, it’s almost as if you bought half the self care aisle back to base, but it’s for the greater good! Plenty of creams, pore strips, face masks, clay masks, lotions and even a roller with oil to make the face feel fresh!
It’s a whole evening helping Simon find what’s best for him. He complains soooooo much about the steamer, but you hush him and say it’ll be worth it. Maybe give him some snacks to appease him as he roasts his face for his health! And yes, he is wearing the bunny headband to keep his curls out of the way.
Simon takes a backseat as you do your magic applying the creams and clay mask to his face. Yes, there is a difference between the creams and masks Simon!
He definitely asks you to explain what you’re putting on his face and what it does. He wants to learn! Simon isn’t simply there for you to take care of him lies, he’s totally enjoying the attention
Play a movie and the man is comfy in his seat as you pamper and fuss over him, cleaning him up of that icky acne :(
The cherry on top of this delicious sundae is when you bully Simon out of his seat to sit on the floor, stealing his spot and positioning him to sit between your legs. Laying him to lean against your chair, you massage the oil into his face, using the roller to run across his face. He almost moans in appreciation as your fingers work their magic, rubbing his cheeks, jaw and forehead with great care to make his eyes flutter shut. It’s so comforting he falls into a lull of sleep and you don’t even realize it until you hear a gentle snore.
What a wonderful day for self care. Maybe Simon will make sure to dirty his face again for another day like this.
6K notes · View notes
undercoverpena · 1 month
Text
can you imagine meeting ghost off-duty. no mask—just a regular man, in a bar close to where you’ve just moved. the two of you begin talking, don’t swap anything about the other, no work talk, just one weekend—one night, really. all nail scratching, teeth digging down into his shoulder to stop your new neighbours complaining. then he leaves, enjoys one mug of tea before his boots are on and he kisses your cheek goodbye.
you don’t think about him.
not outside of the ache he’s left between your legs and the marks that’ll take time to heal. you stuff it into a basket in your mind as you begin packing your bag, heading to the place where you’ll be meeting a new team—become the latest recruit to something more off the record, than on.
you’re sized up, and you size them up back. don’t linger on the pair of eyes behind a balaclava that digs into you with more venom than gratitude. you exchange no words outside of the necessary, completely keeping yourself to yourself where you can—not wanting to miss out on this, an opportunity not handed so often.
so it isn’t until you’re back from the desert, removing sand from wherever it has tried to find a home, that you see your Lt hovering in the doorway. sliding the fabric up, exposing a pair of lips that make you frown, before he speaks.
and his tone isn’t gruff, isn’t as low or as formal as you’ve heard through the radio. if anything, it’s reminiscent of a voice from weeks ago, one buried into your ear, one burned and soldered to your skin as you took and you took and you took.
you get confirmation it’s him when he makes a comment, one that makes you ice cold and full of fire all at once. before now, you’d never thought that “nice work out there” would have the same effect on you as “you can take it”.
sorry, not sorry to @ghostaholics who I woke up with this thought hahahah.
2K notes · View notes
nrdmssgs · 7 months
Text
Kissing Ghost on the forehead
Masterlist Kissing König on the forehead Kissing Price on the forehead
Tumblr media
Simon tried to protect you from Ghost, he really did. It was not that Ghost would hurt you in any way, no. And of course, it was not a disease or mental disorder of any kind - it's a coping mechanism. But once the mask was on - Ghost appeared softly and silently. And Ghost could do things, that Simon couldn't. Things, he wouldn't ever want you to witness.
He never made a huge mystery of his work - he just didn't give away too many details. Simon didn't even hide his masks - he just asked you to not touch him, when he's wearing one of them.
"It's dusty, I wouldn't want your hands to get dirty." When in reality, he wouldn't want your entire being to get corrupted.
Ghost was to be kept out of your house and Simon made sure, you never saw each other. Little did he know, you had your ways not only around people, but around symbols as well.
His last day at home was coming to an end: in the morning he had to leave for a long deployment. Simon packed his things, leaving the mask atop of his open bag.
The rays of the setting sun painted the rooms with large windows in shades of red and gold. He absorbed every moment, breathed in and tried to remember barely distinguishable smells and sounds that filled your house, walked aimlessly through the rooms when he saw this. You sat on the edge of your bed, next to his bag, holding his mask in front of you. Your eyes were screwed shut as you pressed your forehead against the cracked, grayish surface of the mask. It was as if Ghost was kneeling in front of you, letting you touch his forehead with yours. Simon froze, part of him wanted to end this scene right there, but he hesitated, not wanting to scare you.
You slowly opened your eyes and looked deep into the empty holes in the mask. Your lips parted and you spoke almost inaudibly.
"Protect him and bring him back to me alive."
Simons' heart skipped a beat, when he understood, you were speaking not to him, but to the Ghost behind his mask.
And then, when he thought, this strange conversation was over - you brought the mask to your lips and kissed its forehead. Simon was standing in good 10–15 meters from you, but he could swear, he almost felt your soft and tender touch. Anything he ever knew, anything both he and Ghost were capable of, crumbled and slowly disappeared before your wish. Anything, that still kept meaning both to Simon and Ghost from this very moment, was that wish.
"Bring him back alive."
6K notes · View notes
diejager · 8 months
Note
Hiii I wanted to know if you could do a ghost x hybrid!bunny reader?
Where she’s unaware she’s going through her heat cycle (her first) an she’s giving off a dandrufflike sex pollen, so she goes around the base trying to find him. The recuites are following her like dogs an eventually when he finds her (cause she got lost) he realizes that’s what’s going on and helps her out with her problems ☺️
And honestly if you could do anything with ghost x hybrid!bunny reader I would love love looove it 💗💗
Thank you so much for writing! 💗🐰
Bunny
Tumblr media
Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Bunny Hybrid! Reader
Cw: non-con drugging (unintentional really), sex pollen, heat cycles, bunny hybrid reader, Wc: 1.4k
Fun Fact! Bunny was originally and still is a British term of endearment for girls and young women.
Tumblr media
For someone who’d joined Price’s TF for months now, you still couldn’t find your way through these winding halls and sharp corners that made the British base. It was like a maze to your twitching nose and droopy ears, always sending you down the wrong hallway or turning the wrong corner simply because they looked identical, and there wasn’t a plan for the whole base. You’d know, you had asked Price for one after getting lost trying to find the Mess Hall and having the fortune of stumbling into Gaz after wandering the halls of your temporary base.
You, once more, got lost on your way to the gym, the last place you had to search to find Ghost. You had searched the armoury, jumping between soldiers (mostly recruits who’d been sent to your base to train. Most sergeants and higher-ranked soldiers were given their small batch to overwatch.) while looking for your lieutenant, ignoring the dark stares the recruits sent your way. Their pupils dilated and face flushed when you walked past them, bumped shoulders and talked to them. 
While your search for Ghost in the armoury had been fruitless, the other - as equally flushed as the recruits when you spoke to them - sergeants and corporals about him, they advised you to look for the gym and training grounds, knowing the lieutenant would be there if he wasn’t in his room, his office or the armoury. With a grateful nod, you skipped down the corridor, having randomly chosen a path while completely lost. In your small, dazed mind, body heat skyrocketing, skin perspiring and cheeks flushed, you were oblivious to the longing stares people gave you when you walked past them and the number of recruits that had followed you.
They marched in synchronisation metres behind you, acting like a single-celled organism composed of many that followed its prey or another of their kind. Their hands were clammy, their skin heated to a burning red on their ears and cheeks, their hairline stuck to their skin, and their eyes were wide like lost puppies following a treat. 
You lost your way, having to stop and catch someone for directions. Coincidentally, a fellow operator was heading towards the training area, having to meet a teammate for their next briefing. She led you down a familiar hall (was it? Every wall looked the same to you, every spot and crack looked the same on every wall, it had your head spinning in every direction. You were still confused as to why others easily found their way around the whole base.) and pointed out some rooms for you to use as checkpoints when you travelled these halls alone. You thanked her profusely when you found the wide doors to the area you were trying to reach, grasping her hand and giving her a sweet smile, ears flopping at your optimistic movement.
When you reached for the door, you peeked your head through the door, squeezing out when you saw how crowded it was. Ghost preferred solitude and quietness, such a busy and filled room would be a nightmare for a reserved man. He dreaded interacting with people unless he had to (or unless you were part of his loving Task Force 141). Your scent streamed into a wide area, urging heads to turn your way, glazed eyes landing on your head, nose twitching and ears framing your face. They fleeted the room when you left, head tilted towards your scent, ripe and sweet.
You turned to look for the gym, remembering that it was on the other wall, the words gym displayed in bold letters on the door’s sign. You smiled giddily, practically jumping towards it, knowing it was the last place you had to look at. You found him the second you pushed past the door, his broad back standing out around smaller figures around the room even if he seemed to curl into himself on his place on the bench. You went straight his way, the soles of your boots thumping on the slick, shiny floor. It gave you away to the lieutenant who’d heard you walk towards him.
“Ghost,” you smiled, stopping beside his turned body, his sinfully slim hips twisting his skin-tight shirt that stuck to his abdomen like a second skin. “I was searching for you, L.T.”
He muddled silently at you, dark chocolate eyes wandering over your body, over your plush thighs, your round hips, your small stomach, your pressed breast, your naked collar and your face. He flickered to the men that filed in after you, a group of hungry, happy trigger recruits after someone way higher than them. He reeled in the need to growl, watching the way their eyes craved you, fucking you in their mind in every position possible. 
Then his eyes rolled back to you, seeing your flushed cheeks, dilated pupils and sweet grin. The scent that fell from your body was downright delirious, a sickeningly sweet musk that rolled off your body in waves of thin particles of your scent. The stare in your eyes was dazed, dream-like in the way that you gazed at him. It riled him, made him hungry and predatory. 
”You’re in heat, bunny,” he greeted back, voice coming out deeper and raspier than he intended, the low vibration in his chest appearing by itself from his restrained hunger.
He couldn’t fault the recruits that followed you like lost, hungry pups. You were delicious in the haze of your heat (the first one you’ve ever had, he thought. You’d spoken to him once about never having felt the full brunt of heat, they were supposedly painful and made the hybrid needy from what he’d learned. That scared you.), your scent enveloping you in a cocoon of arousing odour, pheromones that attracted males of your kind of human males to satiate your needs.
He couldn't, doesn't mean he wouldn’t because he would. He was faulting them for staring at you so shamelessly, eyes hungering for you. He wasn’t a perfect man, he was far from it, he was the worst kind to be deemed a perfect model. He was imposing, dominating, possessive and deadly, he was a ghost, the dead that came back alive, having no name or face to call his own. Just like the recruits, he wanted you, to take you for himself in the privacy of his dark room. He wanted to bite into those, soft, fluffy ears of yours, always drooping around your face, but never restraining you in combat (you fared surprisingly well, nearly as merciless as him, in combat, tearing down men twice your size with a knife if needed. You were ruthless to your enemy or those that aimed to hurt your little TF.). He wanted to make you cry, to grab your round tail and yank on it until you begged him to stop. He wanted to bite into the scarless skin of your neck, a perfect place for his mark. 
Bunnies liked marks, no? They loved affection and being taken care of, didn’t they? Although you were a hybrid - mostly human with some bunny genetics in your body - you still had some rabbit-like behaviours. He’d seen how you preferred veggies over meat, though you did eat meat on occasion to keep up with the growth of your muscles. He’d seen how you liked soft and smooth things, you had many blankets and personal items you were gifted or bought. He knew you liked jumping and scouting, a bunny's natural curiousity made it peek from beneath the tall grass at things that caught its attention. 
He, however, hasn’t seen how you act in the throes of painful heat, would you submit to a needy, aroused bunny that would ask anything of him; or would you jump him and demand attention, using him as you like. He stopped himself from wandering down that dark path, or at least for now until he got both you and him to his room for privacy. 
“C’mon bunny, let’s go,” he stood up, bag slung over his shoulder while his other hand rested on your lower back, the dip of your vertebrae and the start of your jerking tail. 
He glared at the cowering recruits as he moved between them, they has separated to form a path for you and Ghost. Black-painted skin, dark eyes and a skull-drawn balaclava made them flee, tails tucked between their legs. He held you closer to him, your hip flush to his as he led you to his quarters. That would teach them who you belonged to (perhaps you would show them who he belonged to).
4K notes · View notes
mactavishsgfandwife · 24 days
Text
Simon "Ghost" Riley and Your New Cat 🌷
simon having beef with a stray cat you brought home silly little idea i had no content warnings, just cute fluff, female reader :3 not proofread!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
"What the hell is tha’?" he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared in disbelief at the little black kitten in your lap.
"I found him. He’s called Lettuce," you grin, cuddling the cat to your chest. You’re well aware that lettuce is a stupid name for a cat, but it just seemed right at the time. The kitten was tiny, and had seemed very weak when you’d discovered him shivering in a box outside your apartment block. Now, he seemed a lot more comfortable, making a little home for himself on your sweater. He was so small - he literally fit in the palm of your hand - but his frizzy black hair stuck out at every angle so that he looked less like a kitten and more like a wiry pompom.
"Love," Simon laughed, rubbing his face with a sigh, "Lettuce looks like a flea. Where the hell di’you find ‘im?"
"Oi, he does not! Well, maybe a bit. I found him in a box. He was meowing at me, he looked so cold…" you stroke the kitten’s cheek with your thumb as you he meows up at you.
"You can’t keep him, he might have diseases. You should give him to a pet shelter." Your boyfriend wasn’t being harsh, he was just worried about you - he didn’t want your little heart breaking because you’d got all attached to a poorly little kitten who might not last the week. But it didn’t come off like that.
"Wh… what..?" you frown, cupping the kitty in your hands to protect it.
"I’ll drive you to the shelter tomorrow, okay?"
"What? Si, no!"
"Baby…" he sighs, trying not to upset you "you can’t just find a scruffy animal on the street and take it home."
"S’what I did with you ," you pout, pulling the same face at him as Vegetable pulls at your sweater sleeve as he paws at it.
"Look," he crosses his arms, about to explain to you the reasons why you two don’t have the space for a cat, nor the prior knowledge. What if the cat walks in on the two of you in bed? What if it bites you and his pretty girl gets hurt? What if you end up loving the cat more than Simon and it steals you away? But your pleading eyes and the tiny, stupid looking kitten chirping in your laps convinces him. If you really wanted anything, you know he’d get it for you, so he’ll let you have your silly kitten.
"Alright, fine. For now." He laughs, ruffling his hair.
"I love you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I love you!" you squeal, gently placing the cat down before jumping up with and wrapping your arms around your boyfriend. He rubs your back softly, watching the stupid fluffy ball on the sofa chirp for your attention. Just because he’s letting you have the cat doesn’t mean he won’t see it as his mortal enemy.
Tumblr media
The next morning, after having gone out to buy cat food for you, Simon is sitting on the sofa, softly kissing your neck from behind. You’re sitting in his lap… completely ignoring his affection in favour of the kitty.
"Si, look! He can walk!" you grin, holding the kitten up so it looks like it’s standing on two feet.
"Mhm… cute…" Simon mumbles into the nape of your next, a strong hand wrapping around your waist to pull you into his chest. He is not watching the cat, he’s busy with you.
"I know right!" you ignore his advances still, gazing at your new pet with adoration, "I should make him a little hat, he’d look so sweet."
"Yeah, fuck, you’re so sweet…" Si keeps kissing you, moving between your neck and your shoulders, which are hidden inside his old tshirt.
"He’s so cute," you grin, stroking the back of the kitten’s head until it purrs, "I love him so much… he’s my baby."
That catches Simon off guard. He would never admit it to anyone, but he loves it when you call him your baby. He’s the only one you should be calling baby. This cat is stealing his girl. [gasp]
Si shoots the kitten a death stare.
"Oh yeah, he’s your baby?"
"Yeah, he’s the cutest…"
"Mhm. I’m sure," he pouts. When you’re not looking, he glares at the cat and points from his grey eyes to its little beady ones, like he’s trying to intimidate it.
Tumblr media
A few days later, the two of you fall asleep together, with Simon spooning you and holding you close. But you forgot to shut the door. So your boyfriend is rudely awakened by a very small, scruffy kitten stomping on his chest.
"No, oi, get off of me," you can hear him grumbling sleepily as you start to stir, alongside the cute chirping of your kitty.
"Listen, Vegeta- cat. Stupid name anyways. We can’t have you disturbing the Mrs, alright?"
You can hear him pause until he hears the kitten meow softly in response.
"Tha’s right, soldier. She’s my Mrs, not yours, and if you so much as try to change that, I will never let you see her again. My girl. Mine," he pouts.
The kitten meows again, as if he’s responding to Simon’s orders. You have to try your hardest not to giggle, biting your lip in the dark as you listen to your big, tough boyfriend have an argument with a little kitten.
"Alright, now leave the lady alone." You almost think you can hear him plant a kiss on the cat’s head before he sets it down at the side of the bed.
Tumblr media
You’re away for the weekend, visiting family, without your boys (Simon and the kitten). :(
Simon’s fine, he’s a tough guy, he has no issue being alone - that is, until he’s poorly and he needs you to cuddle him and make him tea. But you’re not there, and talking to you over the phone only makes him feel worse.
So he resorts to laying in bed, in the shade, trying to nap. Poor boy feels too ill to do anything else (he has the man flu).
With the back of his hand over his forehead, one leg over the covers and one leg under, not quite sure whether he’s awake or asleep, he closes his eyes and frowns. A little black ball hops up onto his bed, waking him up a little.
It plods around in a little circle, looking around and exploring its new environment. When Veggie spots Simon, he waddles over curiously, his little feet sinking into the soft duvet cover.
"Hey, cat," Simon smiles softly, watching the fluffy baby wander and get closer to his face. It looks up into his eyes, chirping, and brushes its fur against his cheek before settling into the crook of his neck.
He chuckles, closing his eyes as the tiny guy curls into a ball against him. The rivalry isn’t quite over for Simon, but that funny looking kitty is a little piece of you, and he’s happy to have its affection.
When you come home, it’s to the two of them, cuddled up on your bed. Silently, you change into a t-shirt and slip into bed behind Simon, planting a little kiss on his cheek.
"Told you he was cute."
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
how i imagine your kitten 💗
i spent way longer on this than i thought i would but it’s so cute and i loved writing it! hope you enjoy lovieeees
2K notes · View notes
crimsonbubble · 8 months
Text
cw. nsfw, gn!reader, gear kink (?), vague strength kink, implied overstimulation, sex against a wall, creampie *not proofread, just pure horny
[ive been seeing so many edits of masked military men on my tiktok fyp and it made me think of ghost...]
MINORS DNI!!
Tumblr media
just being completely naked and having your back pressed into his chest while he still has all his gear on. he merely has his belt undone and his pants open enough to slip into you so easily.
and he's just ravaging you, right there against the wall. bucking his hips up so hard you can feel him in your stomach. like just being so good for him and letting him fuck out his frustrations. him not stopping even as you shudder and come undone around him.
trying to push him away to relieve your sore muscles and fluttering hole but he just pushes you harder into the wall and pulls your hips back into him even more. hearing him grunt and moan through his mask, feeling his thick and heavy cock throb and twitch inside you. just waiting to fill you up like you both know you want to and watch it spill down your thighs.
4K notes · View notes
bubble-dream-inc · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
under your skin.
The last walk-in you expected to see in your tattoo parlor in one rainy day was a massive masked behemoth of a man. It came as even more of a surprise when you wanted to see him there again and again; and a final time when he kept coming back.
Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Tattoo artist reader
rbs greatly appreciated!
WC: 7K
a/n: listen, as a tattoo artist irl, the first thing i did when i discovered ghost had a tattoo was to think how i had to self indulge. i’d kill to tattoo this man personally. shoutout to @117s-girl, @somnibats and Eddie for the tremendous help when i had writer’s block, and @deafeningcat for the amazing beta read as always <3
tags: fluff, reader being horny for ghost, ghost being slightly ooc, mentions at verbal abuse, slightly suggestive and slight angst.
You remember the first time Simon Riley walked into your shop.
It was a cold and rainy day - like most days in Manchester - and you were idling by, doodling on a notebook by the front desk and listening to whatever was playing on the radio without paying it much attention. Glancing at the clock on the wall where the empty loveseat was, you were starting to wonder if you should go get something to eat while you waited, when the bell on the front door chimed, indicating someone had come in.
At first, you thought he was going to rob you, and in a second you were already kissing your expensive equipment goodbye in your head, cursing the fact you had decided to buy that pricey tattoo machine you were eyeing for so long just last week, but those thoughts vanished when the figure just stood in front of you. Silently, you eyed the skull mask and sunglasses that covered his face, wondering what was this guy’s deal, since it was way too grey outside to be wearing any sort of eyewear. Trying not to let his huge stature looming over you be intimidating, you were about to say something when his gruff voice cut the silence.
“You take walk-ins?” 
So he really was a client, you thought. Rummaging through the notebooks in the desk, you quickly glanced at your schedule, seeing your next client wasn’t supposed to come for a few good hours, and decided you were curious about the masked man.
“Well, it depends. What were you thinking of getting?” 
He stood still for a moment, and you wondered if he heard you at all, but suddenly he reached for something in the pocket of his jeans, extending a neatly folded piece of paper in front of you. His voice filled the silence again as you unfolded the paper, and you found the thick accent oddly calming coming from him. 
“I want it to be a sleeve. Covering my left forearm.”
You opened it to find a surprisingly intricate design, and it seemed like whoever did it made it with the intention of actually getting it as a sleeve. Not taking the masked guy for an artist, you found a signature on the bottom of the page, a chicken scratch that read “Tommy Riley”. Usually, you’d make light conversation and ask about the design, especially when it looked important, but something told you not to pry into this man’s business. Assuming he’s this “Tommy” fella, you just smiled politely, deciding you could fit the first session of it into your work day.
“Sure. It should take a few sessions, though, is that alright with you?” He simply nodded, wordlessly, and you decided that was good enough of an answer. 
Leading him into the procedure room after getting his approval on the price, you made sure to give him a consent form for him to fill out and sign while you traced the design to a stencil - making sure to cut the right adjustments to wrap around his visibly huge forearm. You wondered if he was a weightlifter of sorts, or maybe just a gym rat. 
Transferring the stencil to his skin and prepping your materials for tattooing was a completely silent ordeal, and your client seemed more than content in just letting the silence linger for the remainder of your encounter, and even if you were getting antsy by it, you were glad he didn’t comment on how visibly nervous you were when you wrapped your gloved hands around his arm to make the stencil stick - feeling his warmth and the protruding veins even through the latex that covered your own skin. 
“You have any other tattoos?” You asked, stepping on the machine pedal to make sure your tattoo machine was at the right voltage while he got comfortable setting his arm on the arm rest.
“No.” 
“Cool.” God, you felt awkward. “I’m gonna start now, tell me if it hurts too much.”
“Right.” 
You felt stupid saying that to a man that had arms the size of your head and was at least 6,4. As expected, he didn’t even flinch when the needles touched his skin, but you weren’t about to give up on your mission to make conversation with your mysterious client. While tracing it with the machine, you analyzed the design a bit closer.
“That’s some interesting art.” It wasn’t. It was tacky as hell, all missiles and skulls and other edgy elements, but you were not going to say that to him. “You like guns?”
“Something like that.” 
You gave up trying to chat him up shortly after. Even with the weird dad sunglasses on, you could still feel his stare on you, unnerving at best, and you wondered what was up with the mask. In your line of work, you’d met some interesting individuals, and you considered your shop a safe haven for all outcasts and misfits; you’d known, after all you did decide to pursue tattooing as a career. Still, something about this man - Tommy? - made you feel an itch to see what lied beyond the mask - both figuratively and literally.  At least it would take a few more sessions to finish his piece, hopefully he’d say more than five words at once to you at some point. 
It took you two hours to finish tracing it, and you deemed it was good to go and begin shading another day. Getting into professional mode, you gave him directions on how to care for it and asked him to come back after a month to start on shading it, and, as expected, he only nodded to you. Going back to the front desk, he handed the bills containing the price you had settled on, and turned around, leaving without another word. Out of curiosity, you picked up his file. The first thing you noticed was that he had left the “Occupation” space blank.
The second thing you noticed was that the signature read “Simon Riley”.
☆*: .。. .。.:*☆
Simon didn’t come back after a month. 
A good few months later, you just figured he’d given up and was now walking around with an unfinished tattoo, or, worse, he had picked another artist to finish the job, and the thought made you angrier than you’d like to admit. Despite your annoyance, whenever you’d organize your clients files, you’d find yourself lingering on his, weirdly curious and feeling like he was a puzzle you were dying to solve.
A long time passed - you don’t know how much, but you’d say it was more than a year - before he showed up again, and, once again, it was unannounced. You were finishing a client’s tattoo when your friend - and coworker - knocked on the procedure room door, and when you’d told her to come in, she looked like she had seen a ghost. 
“There’s a guy in the waiting room asking for you. Said you were doing his sleeve…” She quietly announced, and you just stared at her quizzically, waiting for her to continue. "He 's…Big. Tall guy with a creepy skull mask.” 
She whispered the last part so he wouldn’t hear it, even if he was a good corridor distance away and the metal music coming from the radio would drown it out, and after a few moments you realized she was talking about Simon.  You remember answering something to her and finishing the tattoo on auto pilot before heading to the front desk, and, sure enough, Simon was standing there menacingly, in his whole huge aura, seemingly unbothered by how his height, frame, and mask were making the other clients in the shop regard him with uneasy looks. His eyes met yours once you showed up. You noticed he wasn’t wearing the sunglasses anymore, and his fabric mask had been replaced by a simpler balaclava and a hard skull mask on top that you hoped was made out of a synthetic material. 
Now bare, his gaze revealed its intensity to you, the dark hues following your every move in a way you supposed you could find intimidating if a small, very weird part of you didn’t find it attractive. He seemed tired, eyes cast downwards and with bags surrounding it, and you wondered what had happened when he was gone. 
“Hey.” You breathed, straining your neck to look up at him and completely forgetting about the other people in the room. “Riley, right? I’m guessing you’re here for the sleeve?”
He seemed slightly surprised you remembered his name, but the impression of seeing emotion in his eyes was gone in an instant as he simply nodded at you.
“Yeah. You got time?”
You didn’t. But you’d make it work, you weren’t about to send away the man who had, for some reason, plagued your thoughts so much for the last months. 
“I got a few more clients, but if you don’t mind waiting, i can fit you in?”
You hated how uneasy you sounded, your hands fiddling with a stray loose line of your ripped jeans as you waited for his answer.
“That works.” 
With his gruff reply, he turned and sat down in the waiting area, and you released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. 
The hours went by, the clients came and went to and from your procedure room as well as your colleague’s, yet, every single time you left the room to go to the front desk have a sip of water or check your next client’s name, Simon was still there, patiently waiting, the loveseat seeming oddly small under him, and his all black, dark getup blending perfectly with the black walls of the studio. If anything, it made you even more intrigued, since most people would have left by now, considering how long a tattoo takes and he could just come back another day, but he didn’t show any signs of having anywhere else to be. The people traffic started to wind down, and soon enough, you dismissed your last client of the day as you were the only artist left in the shop and the sun had already hid in the horizon. 
“Glad to see you again. I was wondering if you had gotten another artist.” You laughed somewhat nervously, taking a breather by the glass door while Simon finished filling out another responsibility form, and you had to ignore how nervous you felt when he turned to glance at you with those dark and intense eyes of his.
“Got busy, that’s all.” He murmured, setting the pen down on the front desk and turning to the wall where your flash pieces were displayed. “And I like your work.”
Feeling your eyes widen, you tried to conceal how flustered the comment made you feel behind a cool chuckle, but something told you Simon could see right through you. Going back inside and pointing him towards the procedure room, you briefly glanced at the fresh consent form and realized he filled out his occupation this time, the words “Army” surprisingly not phasing you one bit.
Simon was the same as the last time, quiet as a grave. But, seeing as you were wrapping up the shading quicker than you’d anticipated, you decided this time you would not let this mysterious man walk out of your studio - possibly forever - without at least getting one piece of information out of him.
“So…does it mean anything?” You nodded towards his arm, trying to play it cool. Being in this field, you quickly realized not everyone gets tattoos that mean anything, and most of them are really just for aesthetics, but the signature below the original design had you wondering, even if the newfound information that he was in the military made the over the top missiles and dog tags inked on his arm make a lot more sense. He stared at you from behind the mask for a moment, making you feel queasy under his stare and suddenly very aware of how much you were draped over his arm trying to get the shading on one particular skull to look just right.
“Yeah.” After a few moments he replied, a wave of sudden relief washing over you upon realizing you had not, in fact, crossed a line. “My brother made it.”
“He’s quite the artist.”
“He really was.”
Oh. 
You decided to drop the subject after the implication.
“And what branch are you in?” Not looking at him, you spoke in a low tone, too concentrated on the machine in your hands to realize you were maybe asking more than he was comfortable talking. “You know, uh, in the army.”
“Special Air Forces.” You realized he tensed almost imperceptibly, relaxing once you only hummed.
“Cool. I’d reckon you guys had tattoo parlors closer to base, though.” 
“We do.” He huffed. “But I know the guys. Not nearly as clean as here.”
At that, you chuckled gently, missing the way Simon’s eyes softened at the sound.
You continued the piece in comfortable silence, distantly registering the pitter-patter of the rain that had just started falling on the street beyond the front doors. Finishing it up, faster than you would have liked, you decided the corny design looked good - really good - on him, and he might have been the only guy possible to pull it off, which could have been related to how big and strong his arms looked. Wrapping the tattoo in plastic film and reminding him to not keep it on for too long, you had to focus on acting professional and not let him know you were ogling at the recently inked piece of skin. The long sleeve shirt he had rolled up to his forearms did not help you one bit, nor did the way his eyes followed your every single movement.
When you got back to the front desk - relieved to find the rain had stopped - you expected Simon to just pay and leave silently the same way he did the last time, but he actually lingered, letting his eyes wander through the flash pieces displayed in a neat corkboard in the waiting room - this one with your name written on top. You actually don’t know when he got your name - something told you it was when he asked your coworker for you. He seemed quite interested in one particular design that had been gathering dust for a long time on the board, considering how big it was.
“See something you like?” You followed his gaze, realizing it was a ram skull chest piece you had completely forgotten about; it looked too dark and menacing for most people looking for walk-ins and flash tattoos. “That one was meant to be a chest piece. Works for the back, too.”
Simon studied it for a few moments. What was up with this guy and skulls? Finally, he turned to you.
“When can you do it?”
☆*: .。. .。.:*☆
The third time Simon Riley walked into your studio, it was, by far, the most memorable one. 
Unsurprisingly enough, he had decided to set an appointment for the chest piece to be the last one of your day, a week later; whether he enjoyed the night time better or just wanted to not be bothered with other people around, that was a mystery to you. There was a third option in the back of your head, but you told yourself it was delusional, and your fascination with the masked man was, in fact, one sided. That didn’t stop you from greeting him with a cheery smile as you looked up from where you were doodling on your notebook on the front desk, pretty much like your first encounter. However, you didn’t think too much of what exactly the chest piece implied as you headed to your procedure room with Simon in tow. It hit you like a ton of bricks when you freezed for a second, holding up the carbon stencil in your hands.
“Uh, you might wanna…take off your shirt. It’ll be more comfortable for you.” 
Preparing the stencil gel, you tried your best to ignore him and not let your eyes wander too much as he lifted the unnecessarily tight black t-shirt over his head, careful as to not remove the balaclava and skull mask combo, folding it neatly and setting the piece of cloth over your table before standing next to you in front of the full body mirror. 
I’m a professional. I’m a professional. I’m a professional.
If you thought Simon was huge before, that was an understatement. 6,4 feet of pure, naked muscle stood inches away from your much smaller body, and you were extremely relieved to realize that he had, probably out of consideration for you, shaved his chest beforehand - the same couldn’t be said for the faint happy trail very clearly peeking from his jeans, sitting way lower on his hips than you’d like. Scolding yourself over and over for fawning like a horny teenager, you hoped the nervous tremble in your hands as you delicately smoothed the gel over his collarbones wasn’t as obvious as you felt it was. Even through the latex gloves you could feel the heat coming from his pecs, as well as a few minor scars that shouldn’t give you too much trouble. You decided to ignore the very visible and very big bullet scar on his side. As he adjusted his dog tags to hang behind his neck so as to not get in your way, you finally peeled the stencil off, trying to calm your frantic beating heart as he analyzed it in the mirror to make sure it was in the right placement. 
It got worse when he actually laid on the tattoo table - comically dwarfed under his enormous frame. Sure, you had tattooed a fair share of chests along the years - both men’s and women’s - and it never really flustered you, after all, it was your job, seeing skin was a very big part of it. However, as you lowered your torso on the bed and tried to adjust your hand to sit as comfortably as possible on his chest, you thanked the gods it was such a big tattoo; you had no idea how you wouldn’t mess it up if it was a tiny one. But you doubted Simon would ever get a tiny tattoo. Above all, you could appreciate how he maintained his breathing slow and steady and, again, didn’t even flinch as the needles touched him, making you like him as a client even more. 
“I’ve heard you guys in the army got…codenames?” You started, desperate to start some conversation before your intrusive thoughts won. “What do they call you?”
Slowly, you were getting used to his brief silence before answering you. It seemed like his way to decide if your question was worth answering or not, and you were glad he had found them all to be so far. 
“Ghost.”
“Very fitting.”
You were surprised to hear him exhale in a way that resembled a very weak laugh, and you felt giddy knowing you made your ever so quiet and serious client laugh - or something like that. Feeling calmer, you continued the very big piece, strapping in for a long next couple of hours.
They passed quickly, your hand working almost in autopilot as you traced the tattoo’s lineart and made light conversation with Simon - Ghost. You learned he was a Lieutenant, liked bourbon and the mask never came off. Granted, it was mostly you speaking and him answering, but you were glad he was entertaining your nervous ramblings, and you were only slightly embarrassed to admit to yourself you found his southern British accent very soothing on his deep, gruffy voice. In turn, you told him a little more about yourself; why you got into tattooing and even a few funny stories from dealing with past clients. 
Finally deciding it was enough strain on his skin for one session, you set your machine down and admired your work, smiling under your mask. Taking a generous amount of the tattooing balm on your fingers, you swallowed your nervousness before gently spreading the substance on his chest so it would heal nicely, not missing the way he relaxed under your touch. If you weren’t so busy panicking by having your hands on such a massive and attractive man, you could ponder on how he seemed to be enjoying that as much as you were. With your approval, he got up to examine the piece on the mirror, and you caught yourself staring into his strong, chiseled, and scarred back, before averting your eyes, choosing to focus instead on cleaning up the inky mess you made on your trolley. You once again went through the now familiar ordeal of him silently thanking you, paying, and leaving into the night.
As Simon Riley left the studio that day, carrying an unfinished piece of your work right on his chest, you realized something clearly had changed in the air between you two. You just had no idea if it was a good or bad thing.
☆*: .。. .。.:*☆
The next time Simon showed up, a month later, you were stressed out of your mind.
You were booked, so you didn’t really have any open spots next to closing time the way he liked it, so he had to settle for coming a bit earlier than usual, which meant there were actually other people in the studio for once, including the one on the front desk yelling in your face.
You couldn’t really remember what he was yelling about, just that you were suddenly regretting your decision of working with people and wondering if it was worth it to stoop down low and insult him back the way he was doing to you. You figured the moment he started yelling about his already finished tattoo that it was most likely another scam attempt coming from him, but it didn’t really matter anymore once you zeroed in on the hulking figure that showed up unexpectedly behind your unpleasant client in the form of your masked savior. For a moment, you were scared things were going to get violent, but Simon didn’t have to do much. It took one glower from him, his gaze sharp enough to cut from way above the smaller man, and he was suddenly stuttering apologies and leaving the studio in a hurry. You ignored the looks the other people in the waiting room were giving the two of you, offering a tired, but extremely grateful smile, to Ghost.
“Hey, Riley.”
He was still staring at where the man had left, and the annoyance on his usually so stoic gaze came as a surprise to you. 
“What happened?” 
You were already heading into the procedure room, too shaken to deal with the stares of the people in the waiting room any longer, and shot him a sheepish look from over your shoulder. 
“Just a rude client being difficult. Not the first time he gave me trouble, either, but it happens.” 
Simon didn’t seem too happy with your answer, but he let it slide, for the moment. Heading into the room and closing the door behind you, the air fell into a familiar silence, broken only by the cluttering sounds as you set up your supplies, and, to you, your still frantic heartbeat in your ears by the less than pleasant interaction just a few minutes earlier. It was unlikely, given how observant he was, but you hoped Simon didn’t pick up on just how shaken you were. Still, you took a few moments to calm yourself down as you tested the machine with your feet; Simon had already made himself comfortable on the table, and soon enough you fell into the rhythm of inking him, the same way you had grown used to in those last few months. Focusing on a particularly stubborn piece of skin where the ink didn’t paint as easily, you were lost in thought when his voice pulled you back to reality.
“Are you scared of me?” You heard him ask quietly from above you, instantly knowing he was referring to the way your earlier client had run off on the sight of him. Pausing your ministrations, you looked up from his chest to find him already staring at you in a way that made your heart skip a beat. Since you were currently working on the details on his collarbone, you haven’t realized how close you actually were to his face, and suddenly you were hit with the realization you could feel his breath through both your masks; and an intoxicating scent of cigarette smoke and cologne. Caught in a trance by his dark gaze, you realized a little too late you were gawking and not really answering his question, which made you feel very glad for the surgical mask covering your suddenly very red face and flustered expression. Looking down to continue your work, you tried to find your words once again.
“Not really. I mean, the mask was off-putting at first, but I've had some odd people as clients. You’re cool, though. You remind me of those big, scary guard dogs, but in a good way.” Cringing at the lame answer, you felt like a kid talking to her crush in middle school all over again, and the huff-slash-chuckle that left Simon only made it worse. It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t, and in your flustered stupor you couldn’t find any words either, so you just let the air around you fall into a comfortable silence over again. If it were anyone else, you’d be wary of the constant quietness, but, for some reason, Simon’s presence was enough to make you content, even if no words were exchanged. 
Blacking out the parts that had to be inked was a piece of cake for you and your enormous needle - which you were glad was being used on Simon, since, most of your other clients would have been crying from the pain only halfway done with the black - and soon enough you were heading out to the front with him, readying yourself to bid him goodbye and, disappointedly, only see him again in the next month, once his tattoo was healed enough for another session, however, as you approached the waiting room, he made no move to leave. You thought maybe he was, again, inspecting your work displayed on the wall, the prospect of continuing to tattoo him after his chest piece was done getting you giddy already, but he was looking nowhere but in your direction, eyes unreadable behind the skull mask.
“I’ll wait until you close. Who knows if that asshole won’t come back expecting me not to be here anymore.” 
Blinking up at him, it took you a few moments to process what he had murmured under his breath, and, in an instant, your heart rate shot up as you tried to wrap your head around the implications. Had it been any other client, you would have laughed it off, telling him not to worry and that you could take care of yourself, but it wasn’t just about anyone. It was him. And for some reason, the fact made you only wordlessly agree with a nod of your head and wide eyes, certain he could now see how clearly flustered and red your face looked. An intrusive part of your brain was screaming at you that he was just being nice, and that the protectiveness was just because of his job and nothing else, but you’d entertain these thoughts later - if ever.
So, much like the second time you’d met him, the rest of your afternoon was spent with seeing Ghost’s massive figure patiently waiting in the way too small loveseat in the front room of the studio, living up to the scary guard dog imagery you had joked about to him, except, this time, in between clients you’d sit besides him to catch a break and make light conversation, the deep rumble of his voice soothing all of your worries in a minute. 
As the hours went by, it was way past nightfall when you closed up, everyone else had already left and you were exhausted after washing the studio on your own. True to his word, Simon loomed behind you like a shadow, quiet and intimidating, refusing to leave until he had walked you to your car in safety. You remember thanking him profusely, and him not making a big deal out of it, and the way your heart thrummed in your throat as you drove on autopilot to your house, trying to ignore the way Ghost’s figure walking besides you on the quiet sidewalk a few moments before felt just right. 
☆*: .。. .。.:*☆
It was early August when you woke up in a very good mood that one morning.
Later you’d realize it was because it was the day of Simon’s appointment, but at the time you had chalked it up to just being a sunny day that brightened your spirits.
Business as usual, you went along your day, anxiously waiting for the place to empty out and you’d get your newly discovered favorite customer, not that you’d admit it outloud to him, or even to yourself. It was actually a slower day, with a big break between clients, which you were glad about, so between coffee and water breaks and chit chatting with your coworkers, soon enough the sun went down and the enormous figure of Ghost could be seen crossing the threshold of the studio’s glass door, responding your enthusiastic wave with a nod of his head, eyes relaxed behind the mask. As usual, he followed you inside the procedure room, and you remembered something.
“Lemme see how your sleeve is healing.” Extending your hand, you smiled cheekily at him, giddy after seeing his half-hearted eye roll, and he gave his left forearm for you to inspect. With his busy way of life, you’d have expected to be worse, but it was actually very well taken care of. “Wow, this has healed up perfectly, good job, Simon!”
You beamed up at him, but your smile faltered once you saw his eyes widening at the praise. Oops. He grumbled something in response and you decided to save him the embarrassment, releasing his arm with a chuckle.
No matter how many times he did it, every single time Ghost took his shirt off it made your brain short circuit, but you remained professional and fell into the familiar routine of tattooing him in comfortable silence, only this time it was broken not only by you talking first, but also him. It surprised you to hear him ask you questions first or tell you some non-compromising stories about his job, - making you chuckle a few times hearing about the shenanigans of this “Soap” friend of his - but you weren’t about to complain. You were lost in the familiarity of it all when you realized that you were actually almost done with the shading - meaning his chest piece would end one session earlier than expected. Trying to mask your disappointment, you wrapped it up, forcing a smile to a suddenly very confused Ghost. 
“I thought we were going to need another session but, uh, turns out it was…faster than i expected!” You gave him a slight, nervous chuckle, and you swore you saw his eyes widen behind the mask. 
As usual, you wrapped the ink in the plastic film - finding it very hard to make the masking tape stick to his large pecs - and gave the same instructions in a robotic way, following him to the front desk where he finished paying for his piece, all in absolute silence and with unreadable eyes. As the transaction was finished, he lingered, standing silently in front of you, looming. You couldn’t meet his eyes.
“So, yeah, i guess that’s it…” You gave another chuckle, offering him a gentle smile. “Hey, don’t be a stranger-”
“Do you want to go out with me sometime?” He blurted out, shutting you right up, and that stopped you dead in your tracks. You stared up at him, unsure if you had heard him correctly, and were waiting for him to say something else or even backtrack, but that never came.
“Uh. Yes? I mean, yes, sure! I’d love to!” You stammered, certain you were wide-eyed and a flustered mess, not expecting him to be so straightforward, or, even say anything at all. Simon seemed a lot more composed than you, even if the way he blurted his question out made it seem like he could be slightly nervous. You doubted he ever got nervous, though. 
“Great. Does this weekend work for you?” 
Thinking back on your schedule, you remembered that no, it didn’t.
“I’m booked with work…But, the next one I should be free.” You hated how awkward you sounded.
He nodded, and took his phone out of his pocket to extend it for you, and you assumed he was asking for your number in the Ghost-est fashion possible. You unlocked it, noticing the lack of a password and the factory wallpaper, realizing it was probably a personal and barely used phone, punching your number in and saving the contact. As you returned the device to Simon, you found solace in realizing he probably felt as awkward as you did.
“I’ll see you in a fortnight, then.” 
With a last nod of his head, he left, leaving you flustered, confused, but extremely giddy, and with a heart pounding against your ribcage. 
☆*: .。. .。.:*☆
Simon came back a week before he was supposed to.
As usual, you were closing up shop when he showed up, distractedly walking around the front room of the studio as you organized everything for the night, the sound of the heavy rain outside covering up the creaking of the glass door, so when you turned around, his presence startled you. 
“Hi Simon! You’re early.” You chuckled once you recovered from your scare, but he didn’t match your energy. He was just standing there, stiff as a plank, and staring silently at you. Growing increasingly worried, you were about to ask if he was alright when he beat you to it. 
“I’m leaving for a mission. And i’ll be gone for…some time.” 
Your heart dropped, and you could only stare at his mask trying to process his words and find words, but ultimately settling on a quiet and disappointed oh. He finally approached you, and in less than a second he was standing towering over your figure, holding you in that familiar eye contact you’d grown to look forward to so much, even if you'd realized by his gaze that he seemed just as upset as you. 
“Will you…be in danger?” It was a dumb question, but you couldn’t help yourself, everything you told yourself the days about moving slowly and waiting for your first date to decide how much you cared flying out the window as you openly worried for him for the first time. Ghost sighed, and suddenly you were hyper aware of how close you stood.
“I always am.” 
Not breaking away from his intoxicating gaze, your words lowered to a whisper, a plea.
“Be careful. Please.” 
The air stilled around you, thicker in tension that got worse with each passing millisecond, all of those feeling like hours. Simon’s height had never seemed so intimidating, and you never chastised yourself so much before for liking how his intense aura made you feel, something that increased tenfold once he boldly got even closer to you. Opening and closing your mouth like a fish, hoping something would come out eventually, you stilled upon feeling his gloved hands gingerly touching your face - dwarfing you in them - and you swore your heart was about to leap from your chest to your throat in a matter of seconds. His steely gaze flickered downwards briefly before returning to your eyes, asking for permission for something you didn’t even know quite right what it was, but that you’d give him regardless. The rough texture of his gloved left hand reached your now slightly parted lips as he traced the bottom of them with his thumb, moving his other hand to slowly lift up his balaclava just enough to expose his - unsurprisingly - sharp, stubbled jaw and full, lightly scarred lips. You barely had time to admire what you could see of him before his face was merely inches apart from yours, your breaths mingling together from both of your parted lips.
“You don’t even know what I look like.” He mumbled against you. A silent beg for you to stop him now, but you wouldn’t even dream of it.
“I don’t care.” You breathed back, voice barely above a whisper, and that seemed to break his resolve, as in the next moment he was leaning in and finally capturing your lips with his. 
Kissing Simon Riley in real life was so much better than what you imagined. His height made it that he had to lean down an awkward amount to reach you and you actually had to stand a bit on your toes, but none of that mattered as you finally felt his lips move against yours, surprisingly slow and gentle for a man that looked like that, but you supposed he was always full of surprises. He moved his hands from your face to your waist, gripping with a little more force when you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, encouraging him to kiss you harder - it would be a waste not to feel just how strong those huge arms of his could get wrapping around you. Groaning into your mouth, his touch soon became ravenous as he tasted you like a starved man, both of you now knowing it might as well be the last time you’d see each other, but you didn’t want to dwell too much on it, choosing instead to focus on the way he gripped the back of your thighs and lifted you onto the counter as if you weighed nothing, getting even impossibly closer to your smaller frame, never breaking the kiss. You felt like you could stay wrapped up in his arms for hours, but at some point you had to part your lips, keeping your foreheads touching and looking at each other without saying another word.
He waited until you closed up and walked you to your car again; except, this time, as you watched his retreating figure from the rearview mirror, your chest felt constricted, the unsureness of if he’d ever come back alive clenching your throat in fear. 
☆*: .。. .。.:*☆
The late june spring air smelled good, and you were in high spirits. 
You hummed contently, cleaning with a paper towel wet with soapy water the last smudges on the inked skin, leaning back to admire your work. The black crow on his upper back turned out particularly good, and you found it amusing how its edgy nature went along well with the other tattoos already on his body. Spreading the hydrating vaseline to wrap the piece up took a little more than you’d take with other clients, since you were busy admiring and feeling up the strong, scarred back beneath your fingertips. 
“All done!” 
The man got up, admiring the crow in an awkward angle in front of the full body mirror, and you couldn’t help but keep staring at the muscular back and pecs that you could see from your position in your chair.
“Quit the ogling.”
His voice sounded gruffy, but slightly amused, which made you chuckle and get up, stopping by his side to lean against his huge arms and stare back at him through the mirror.
“Quit being hot, then.”
Simon rolled his eyes, but you knew he was smiling under the mask and possibly had the slightest red dusting his cheeks - since he was so pale, you’d always notice it when he had his mask off, and in turn, he’d always notice how you’d stare at his face with a smug smile. He looked over the tattoo once more before you wrapped it up, past the stage of giving him the instructions, all of them already second nature to him, considering it had been so many years he started getting tattooed by you.
“You know” You started as he followed you to the front door of the mostly empty studio, the only other sound being the tattoo machine of a single other coworker that was staying late in their own procedure room. “You don’t have to wait for me, you know I still got another client and it should take one or two hours more.” 
Ghost huffed, turning to you with his hands on his jacket pockets, the height difference between you never failing to take all the air out of your lungs.
“Nonsense. He’s not supposed to be here for another half an hour, right? I’ll go grab us some dinner from that place you like and I’ll be right back. I’ll help you close up then we can go home.” 
You shook your head with a giggle, watching as he came closer to you, and were about to protest more but he gave you a look that left no chance for you to be stubborn, shutting you right up. Taking one hand out of his pocket, Simon lifted his mask just enough for you to see his jaw - which you had already admired that morning while he was shaving - and his lips, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on your cheek. You smiled, feeling him murmur just so you could hear it.
“See you in a minute, love.”
With that, he left, leaving you to watch fondly his retreating form from the glass door, as you chuckled dreamily one last time and went back to your procedure room.
9K notes · View notes
ohmygraves · 1 month
Text
once, you tried to hide from your husband simon.
it wasn't your first attempt, of course. he's very observant and would notice you missing if you were out of his sight for like five seconds. you two are basically joined to the hip, so it's really, really hard for you to just somehow disappear from his sight. you're thankful that somehow he didn't even set up security cameras for the house himself.
of course, that doesn't discourage you from pranking your husband.
simon was away on a deployment for a few months, and you have been planning all of this from start to finish. you've seen lots of tiktok and reels and whatever about seeing how long your spouse will go look for you if you went missing, and you're kind of curious as to how long it takes for him to go look for you. clearly, you weren't thinking that far ahead.
you went and set up cameras yourself, since it's high time that you need to install one anyway. you told simon before he left, he completely trusted you to deal with it. he's most likely going to check everything when he comes back anyway, making sure that you did everything properly. but that's how you find yourself sitting impatiently, waiting for him to pull over the driveway of your shared home.
after setting everything up, you make sure that the cameras are working around the house. one by the front door, one in each room (except the bathroom), one in the garage and overseeing the driveway, and one facing the backyard.
this was flawless. this was amazing. he's going to laugh and find you in five seconds as usual.
you quickly hide yourself in the closet after you hear him pull over, making sure to keep your voice as low as possible. you giggled as you saw him call for you as he walked into the house through the security camera. but you weren't ready to see what happened next.
simon kept calling for you, looking around nervously as he couldn't find you. he dropped his duffel bag on the floor, kicking his boots off in a rush as he looked everywhere for you, getting increasingly agitated and anxious since you didn't respond. you can clearly see how panicked he was, how scared he is. his voice cracks as you could hear him pass from room to room, his hands flipping through your entire house to find you.
seeing how panicked he was, you felt really bad.
you quickly leave your hiding spot, calling out to simon. he was holding a knife in his hand, a panicked look on his eyes as he turns to you, eyes blown wide. his breathing is irregular.
"simon! i'm sorry! i was hiding and—"
you couldn't even finish your sentence before he hugged you, dropping his knife as he held you close to him. his body shook silently as he pressed you against his chest, not wanting to let go. you could feel his heart beating fast, his fingers trembling against the small of your back. you could feel wetness dropping against your skin, but you're too scared to say it out loud.
"... don't do that again..."
"i'm sorry, simon..."
he didn't say anything, simply holding you tighter in his arms. he wouldn't leave you alone for a few days afterwards. you're sure he's still mad at you after what you did, but he didn't say anything, too busy holding you close to him hoping that somehow he could glue the two of you together so you wouldn't wander off.
you learned that you probably shouldn't try and scare him like that again.
4K notes · View notes
peppermint-toads · 2 months
Text
simon had easily conquered sephora. light work. aritzia was an entirely different demon.
he didn’t know why he felt like he was in competition with the other men lounging on the ‘boyfriend couch’ in the fitting room area.
all he knew was he was puffing his chest out as far as he possibly could and spreading his legs as wide as they could go without tearing his balls in two.
he also didn’t love that there were no private mirrors in each fitting room, that you had to come out and parade yourself in front of everybody just to see how the clothes fit.
and simon wasn’t insecure by any means, just protective.
it must’ve been a good day for you because each outfit you came out in was fitting you in all the right places, and simon knew it!
you returned to your fitting room after showing off one particular dress for him, and it was his last straw.
see, he also wasn’t particularly a fan of the whole curtain situation. all this frilly decor and they couldn’t afford to install some good, sturdy doors?
simon took to relocating himself right outside of your room, making sure each end of the curtain was touching wall to wall so there was absolutely no peeking.
you were too busy pulling on a pair of jeans to even notice his new position. when you ripped the curtain open to show him you yelped.
“simon! you scared me, jeez—”
you waited for him to budge but he wouldn’t move.
“si, i have to see how these fit.”
he still didn’t move, staring down at you with crossed arms.
“how ‘bout i tell you if they fit or not.”
he manhandled you to spin around so he could see the back.
“mhm, these ones look good.”
you’re just glad he didn’t take the time to notice the $200 price tag.
6K notes · View notes
sgtgarricks · 1 month
Text
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ your gentle hands are enough
simon riley x afab!reader cw: nsfw, angst kinda?, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, praise kink, creampie!!, reader referred as 'pet' like twice, smut with sadness, hurt/kinda comfort, mention of johnny's death, simon is scared of commitment :(, we still love him.
reblogs are immensely appreciated! <3
NEXT PART (HEA): i want your hands on me for all my life
notes: my first ever fic that i'm posting on this site !! feedback is appreciated ♡ dedicated to @rowarn for being lovely and entertaining my rambles!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
You and Simon weren't exactly dating.
He visits you almost every night whenever he's in the city and he's always gone before you're out of bed. But you relish on the rare occasions that you're awake before him — the moments you get to brush your hand through the raised scars littered all across his face, the moments you get to tangle your fingers in his hair to hear his little grunts.
Simon Riley has rough hands, scarred and calloused from years in the battlefield. Yet when those hands are caressing your body softly, you know he's being unnecessarily gentle to not let you feel the roughness in his hands — as if he was trying to prevent all the hurt and pain he's inflicted with his fists from bleeding into you.
You pretend to have only just woken up, eyes blinking slowly trying to adjust to the sunlight filtering in through the blinds.
"Morning, Si."
"G'morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?" He places a warm palm on your hip, not fulling resting the weight of it.
"I always do when you're here." You raised your hand to his chest and feel his heart thumping steadily below you. His body always runs hot no matter the weather and it makes you nuzzle into him more during the bleak winter.
Silence engulfs the two of you, lulling you into a vulnerable state of bliss as you recall the events of last night.
You had barely opened the door for him last night before his hands were all over you, lips crashing onto yours as he kissed you with desperation. Strong hands working swiftly to remove your clothes gently as he pushed you towards the bedroom.
Simon was always gentle with you, but you've been with him long enough to know the difference between him missing you and him scared at the thought of missing you.
Instead of gently laying you down on the plush mattress, he pushed you with a little bit of force than usual.
"Simon!" You yelp. You must've been too distracted by him to fully notice that he was now fully naked below you.
He had a glint in his eye that let you know you were not going to be able to rest until he coaxed multiple orgasms from you.
His hand was constantly on your body, not wanting to go for a second without feeling your skin under his. Greedy kisses were peppered all across your collarbone that were now marked with the imprint of his teeth.
You knew Simon was trying to memorize every inch of your body, leave his marks on you because he was going to go back on deployment soon.
This realization is what snaps you out of your peaceful reverie. That your Simon is going to leave you soon.
The mere thought of having to see him leave your apartment in a few hours and not getting to see him for another week? Months?
It leaves a sour taste in your mouth that made you frown and turn your head away.
Simon, ever so vigilant, notices your downturned lips. He cups your chin and swivels it to face him. He nudges his nose with yours, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"
You hate that he was playing dumb. Hates that he thinks you don't know his antics by now. Hates that he thinks you don't know him by now.
"You know why, Si." Pushing your hands on the plush bed, you rest your back on the headboard. You stare at Simon disapprovingly, upset that he's trying to pretend everything is fine.
He sighs heavily and run his hand through his hair, messing it up more than it already was.
"How do you know?" He finally lets out, still laying down on his side staring up at you.
You scoff at him. Maybe because you've seen him through his highs-and-lows. You've seen his little smirk at your antics. Listened to his stories intently as he fondly recalls memories with his squad mates.
But you've also seen him coming to you bloody, battered, bruised, and shaking as you stitched his back. You've seen him scare himself awake at night, dreaming about the last time he saw Johnny.
He chuckles when you stare at him pointedly and finally sits up. He waits for you to stop sulking for a few minutes, before sighing once more.
The bed creaks with his weight as he tries to stand up from it, turning towards the window. You know what's coming next and you are fully aware there's nothing you can do to stop him from going on deployment.
What you can do, is at least try to make him stay a little bit longer.
You crawl forward from your position, throwing both your arms around his wide torso — at least try to, he's way too wide for you to fully engulf him in your arms.
"Don't go."
Your lips are pressed against his back as you softly plead with him to not go. Simon takes both your arms in his hands and angles his upper body towards you. Slowly, you move up from your sprawled-out position and kneel in front of him.
"Please." You slowly pull away your arms from his grip. He reluctantly lets you go before you slowly wrap them behind his neck. You inch closer to him, slowly leaning down and kissing his neck.
Simon moans languidly, still groggy.
"You play dirty, love." He cups your behind, angling his neck upwards to give you more access.
"You love it."
"Being cheeky, are you?" You grin against his neck, biting down softly. Arching your neck subtly as Simon tugged on your hair.
These were truly the moments you truly enjoy the most. Not that you don't enjoy sleeping with him, you definitely do. But being able to love him freely in the daylight made it much more intimate.
You suspect it's why Simon always tried his best to leave before the sun came up.
You know Simon loves you, albeit in his own unique way. He's never been nothing but kind and gentle to you, always making sure you feel safe and taken care of with him. From locking your door with the spare key he has after he leaves, to making sure to take care of you after having sex — always gets up to clean any messes he had left on your body with gentle wipes and ending it with a soft kiss to your forehead.
Despite your numerous attempts to get him to open up about his past, he doesn't bite often. Though, you know some part of him wants nothing more than to tell you every single thing about himself when he speaks little snippets of his past.
He doesn't tell you anything overly upsetting, always keeping it minimal and with as little details of violence as possible.
Perhaps, his idea of a small mercy.
Maybe he thinks he's doing you a favor, giving you little bits of himself hoping you eventually realize how damaged he is. He doesn't understand how those flickers of vulnerability makes you hungrier for more of him. You wanted him, thorns and all.
Simon lets himself get roped back into your arms, all his muscles relaxed, no trace any tautness or rigidness lingering. He feels safe in your arms.
"How long Simon?" You finally ask, preparing for the worst.
Simon was mostly gone for around a month.
But on the rare times you couldn't see him for more than half a year, it was like hell. It hurt so deeply knowing even if he had been killed off somewhere, you might not even know. The only traces left of him would only be the few shirts he's let you take and the Simon-shaped hole he would have left in your heart.
It scared you that you could never be able to smell his earthy musk lingering in your sheets again, that it would fade one day and you wouldn't remember what it smelled like anymore.
"I dunno. More or less three months?"
You hated when he was vague. He was often trying to spare your feelings.
"So... more."
He nods with his face still hiding in your neck. You can feel him press his nose harder and inhale deeply.
Deep down, you feel crushed. You always do when he has to leave. You want to tell him how much you love him again, how much you need him, and you wanted him to say it back so badly.
You thought you had gotten so far with him, slowly breaking down his walls after getting him to start staying over instead of leaving. Something changed after he lost Johnny — he was more touchy, more clingy, but he never let you get any closer anymore. You could physically feel him wince if you told him you loved him during one of your vulnerable moments.
The first time you told him you loved him, he looked at you with a somber look. He didn't say anything, but he pulled you close and gave you a bone-crushing hug.
I'm sorry.
He gave different reactions every time. Some days he'd simply sigh and drag his fingers through your hair lovingly. On worse days, he'd shake his head and do nothing else.
It was like an impenetrable wall had suddenly appeared when it wasn't there before.
You take a deep breath. Simon has been nothing but gentle with fragile you. He's been trying his best to not taint the heart that you've freely ripped out of your chest for him.
Maybe this time, you can do something for him and let him go back without the weight of your love on his shoulder.
"Better make the most of it then, eh?" You pull back from him and hear a grunt of protest. You start pushing him until his back hit the headboard gently. Kissing your way down to his groin, you tug at his boxers impatiently.
"Sweetheart you don't have to-"
"I want to." You cut him off.
"Fuck. You're gonna be the death o' me, love." He lifts his hips and lets you drag his boxers down, revealing his semi-hardness.
God, his cock is so beautiful. It's so thick you could barely wrap both your hands around it even when he's not fully hard.
"I'll make sure to send you off gently with a kiss, Simon." Your mouth slowly engulfs the tip of his cock, licking all around it. Simon lets out a groan as he grabs your head gently.
"Oh, fuck. That's it, sweetheart. So sweet, being so good f' me." He encourages sweetly and it's enough to get you preening and moving your head excitedly down his length.
Just as you know his habits, Simon also knows what makes you tick. Getting praised by him almost always makes you putty in his hands and he makes sure to take advantage of this information to its full potential. He loves to praise you even for the smallest of things, such as cooking for him when he gets back.
Telling you how lovely you are and how he's thankful for you taking the time to cook for grumpy, old, Simon.
You continue taking more of his length in your mouth, gaggling slightly from the sheer size of him. You can taste the salty precum on your tongue and your eyes roll back from pleasure, taking him in more enthusiastically.
"Slow down, love. Don't want- ugh.. you t' hurt yourself." Simon tries to pull your head back to give you space, but you're not happy about it. You glare up at him best as you can before taking him down to the hilt.
Nose pressed deep, you can smell the slight tang of his musk, making you slightly delirious. You moan, sending vibrations up throughout his body.
Simon trembles with pleasure, groaning.
"Yeah, you like that sweetheart? Love choking on my cock? Hmm?"
At his words, you slowly take your mouth off of him, replacing it with your hands. Slick from your spit and his precum, your hand glides along his shaft easily as he bucks into your hand.
"Mhm.." You put your mouth on him once more, only pulling away to rub it all over your face. "Love it so much, Si. Love having your cock in my mouth. Can't live without it."
Simon admires you, cockdrunk on his leaking shaft. Even with his mess all over your face as you slobber on him, he thinks you look absolutely gorgeous.
Looking up at him, it's like you can see hearts in his eyes. You've been wet since the moment you woke up to him next to you, but him looking at you like you're the only person he wants to see on him makes you feel on top of the world.
Unable to take it anymore, you whine pathetically and start humping the bed.
Simon sees you writhing on the bed below him and chuckles as you continue kissing all over his cock.
"Look at you.. so needy, sweetheart. You don't need to hump the bed like a dog in heat. I'm right here, love." With that, he gently pulls you off his cock. You groan dismay, body going slightly limp from desperation.
"Need you so bad, Si." You beg him, tears starting to form in your eyes. You think you're going to crazy if he doesn't fuck you soon. He's about to leave soon for months and you're desperate for him to leave his mark on you.
Simon gently tuts and caresses your cheek. He's in awe of how he's got such a lovely, needy, pet wrapped around his finger. He hasn't had someone this devoted to him in a very long time — someone who's always excited to see him come home, someone who's never asked for him for more than what he can give.
Maybe it makes him a narcissist that he's happy of the fact that you're so desperately in love with him, you'd rather have parts of him than not at all.
But during early mornings where he'd find you sniffling into your pillow, he feels pain in his chest where his heart resides. He knows you cry over him.
He mourns the love that you two could have, but he'd rather mourn over the fantasy he's created in his head — the fantasy where he wasn't fucked up and is able to receive the kind of love you freely give, than have you be heartbroken when Simon inevitably doesn't come home one day.
"I got you, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good." He rumbles against your lips. In a split second, he'd managed to lay you out on the bed and now hovered above you.
He takes a moment to stare at your face. Wide-eyed, sweating, and panting heavily. He peppers kisses all over your face.
His little pet all worked up over sucking his cock.
He's staring at you for a few seconds, making you writhe around, but you never break his stare. It was as if the both of you were trying to commit each other's faces to memory right in this moment, not knowing when you were going to be able to see each other again.
You bring your hand up to his face, slightly wiping the sweat away from his eyes.
His eyes.
The moment he looked at you, you know you were done for. Those eyes never fail to send shivers through your whole body, as if your entire being was standing to attention when his eyes were on you.
"You're so pretty, Simon."
That seemed to break him out of his trance. He grunts slightly as if disagreeing with your statement. You sigh, knowing he's never going to see himself the way you see him.
That's okay. You'll spend as much time as he'll give you to convince him.
Simon kisses and caresses down your body as you moan from the feel of it. Teasing you with his lips and leaving small marks all over. When he gets to your thighs, he slowly raises both of them as he lightly rubs his scruffy chin on it.
"Lift those pretty legs f' me, hm?"
When you don't respond, he gently bites to get your attention and you huff. You grasp your bedsheets so tight your knuckles were going white when you feel his hot breath on you.
"Such a pretty pussy. Just for me, yeah?" He kisses your folds gently, the sensation of his scruff causing a prickly sensation, making you wail in pleasure.
"S-Simon!" You were so needy and sensitive — Simon loved that about you.
"So sensitive." He murmurs against your weeping pussy. He runs his finger across your folds, gathering the wetness. You look down at him as he tastes your wetness on his finger.
"Fuck, Simon."
"Mm, my favorite taste."
After a few moments of simply kissing all around your folds and your clit, Simon decides to stop teasing you. He presses his face in your folds and licks a stripe across it.
He repeats this action multiple times, sucking on your little bud in between. He rolls his finger around your clit as his mouth makes suckling noises. The sensation of his tongue and finger on you make you gasp loudly — your eyes rolling back.
You arch your back and don't stop chanting Simon's name like a prayer. Like he was going to disappear if you stopped calling his name.
"That's it. Let me hear what you want, pretty." He brings two of his fingers back inside your walls, lightly caressing them. He's teasing you, waiting for you to beg him to put his fingers inside of you. You break instantly, begging for him to use his thick fingers to please you.
"Please, Simon. Please, please, please. Need your fingers in me."
How could Simon deny you when you beg so sweetly?
Humming against you, he slowly sinks his fingers inside your aching walls. You sigh in contentment, unconsciously clenching on his fingers.
"Relax love, you're choking my fingers." You relax a bit at his words, trying to get your breathing back to normal. The death grip you
It seems that Simon had other ideas, because as soon as you loosened, his fingers started picking up. You start wailing again at his sudden shift in pace, grabbing his hand that was gripping your thigh.
His hand lets go of your thigh and entwines it with yours.
"Doing so good for me. You can take it, sweetheart. Be good and cum on my fingers, yeah?" At this point the both of you were panting heavily, his heavy cock still leaking precum onto the bedsheets. You didn't realize it before, but you're just now realizing how the bed is creaking from his hips.
Simon pants heavily, the room getting warmer by the second. His heavy groans makes your pussy throb around his fingers as you feel a pressure building in your lower belly.
"Si- please. So close."
Knowing you're close sends him over the edge, his tongue works faster and sloppier in tandem with his fingers. Simon moans and and your back starts to arch higher than before.
You're now making a mess on the bedsheets, wet noises can be heard loudly as it echoes throughout the entire room. You feel hot, sweaty, and suddenly everything's too much.
The lights are too bright, the noises too loud, and you feel so sensitive it burns.
"Simon, I-" You whine, legs starting to thrash as Simon pulled his fingers away to hold your legs. You feel your nerves lighting awake as you feel every single sensation as he sinks his tongue inside.
"Love you Si, love you so much. I'm—" Your body seizes and freezes for a moment and a little flick of his tongue against your bud makes you lose it. Your orgasm washes through you like a crashing wave, causing you to tremble in his hold and let out gasps as you struggle to breath normally and let your legs fall.
Simon lets you catch your breath as he lifts himself up, still hard. You rest your eyes on him and you see him lick his lips — his entire mouth and chin shiny with your slick.
He hovers above you once more, leaning down to give you a kiss. You reach up enthusiastically, pulling him down by his neck. He grunts at the sudden force as you slant your lips against his. It's messy, his lips slick with spit and yours with a small trace of drool. The kiss is desperate, teeth knocking into each other more than once.
It goes on for a while before Simon starts to pull back. Before he's successful, you wrap both your legs around his waist and Simon gasps at the sensation of his cock pressed against your slick.
"Need you inside, Simon. Want you in me." Murmuring against his lips, your hand desperately wanders down his sweaty body and grips his cock.
He lets out a grunt at the sudden warmth enveloping him and is unable to control as his hips involuntarily thrust forward.
"Yeah? You want my cock? Take it, sweetheart. It's all yours." He watches in a daze as you slowly align him with you. The moment he feels his tip rub on your slippery folds, he lets out a whimper.
"Please Si.." You whisper to him. "Wanna feel you inside me so bad." Simon coos at you, seeing you beg him to fuck you never fails to make his brain circuit for a few seconds.
He teases you a few seconds longer, just to hear you beg more for him. He begins to feel bad when you start humping the air in hopes of getting his head inside you.
You're babbling incoherently now, eyes closed, hands wandering all over Simon's body. He gives you mercy and starts to push inside your throbbing hole. It takes a bit of time, but when his head manages to push through, he's already able to feel your walls pulsate around him.
"Oh, sweetheart. So needy f' me." He's also barely coherent, his eyes focused on his cock deeper inside your tight hole. "What are you gonna do when I'm gone, hm? Who's gonna fuck you this good?" Simon barely realizes what he's saying until he's spoken them. The thought of someone else fucking you when he's gone lights a fire inside him.
"Oh, fuck." His cock is fully in you now and you can feel every vein pulsating inside of you. Your hands are gripping Simon harder, possibly leaving red marks all over his body — you relish in the thought of Simon looking in the mirror and seeing the marks you left on him. "No one, Si. No one's gonna fuck me as good as you. Don' want you to go. Want you here with me." Your mouth hangs open uselessly, overwhelmed with the pressure of Simon in you.
Hearing you admit so openly you weren't going to fuck anyone else drives Simon even crazier. You realize now how much of an impact your words have on Simon when he starts pounding your poor pussy that was still sensitive.
"Yeah? That's right, sweetheart. No one can fuck you like I can." It takes him a few seconds to get his words out, huffing above you. You can barely hear what he's saying, ears ringing from the blinding white, hot pleasure coursing through your entire body. Your hands try gripping him as long as you can but his thrusts are causing your body to jostle relentlessly, and now your arms flail helplessly before holding onto the headboard.
Simon is no longer on his forearm, his head resting in the crook of your neck as his hands grip your waist. You're sure his hands are going to leave prints in the morning from how hard he's gripping you.
You don't mind at all.
Your brain feels foggy, only speaking Simon's name over and over again. Simon's no better than you, grunting and groaning at every thrust that leads him deeper into your hole.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He moans. "So good for me, so sweet for me." Your legs no longer have the energy to stay corded behind his back, limping helplessly beside you as Simon fucks you.
You feel another orgasm creeping up on you as your walls begin to clench around Simon's cock. Simon hisses at the feeling, leaning up to look at your cream gathering at the base of him. He looks up to the ceiling, gasping in pleasure.
"Si, I'm so close, I-" He brings his head down to give you a chaste kiss before pulling away, nose touching yours and staring into your eyes.
"Let go f' me, sweetheart. Gonna cum on my cock and be good?" He coaxes you, one of his hands going to your face. You don't even realize you're crying until Simon wipes your tears away.
You can't take it anymore, the loving look in his eyes and feeling him inside you breaks you.
"Love you so much, Si. I love you so fucking much." You cry out to him as you're finally sent over the edge. You wail loudly, back arching as Simon continues to thrust at a slower pace, going deeper than before.
"God, fuck. I love you, I love you. Fuck." He continues to mumble against your neck. Your jaw goes slack and another orgasm seizes your body as you clench and gush all over him.
His thighs are drenched from your slick and when he feels your walls pulsing repeatedly over him, he feels shivers all over his body and he cums.
The blinding pleasure takes him off guard, thighs shaking from the sheer force. He continues thrusting shallowly, dragging out his orgasm as his cum fills up your hole to the brim.
He gasps and bites down on your neck, not stopping until he's fully come down from his high.
You're shell shocked, one hand over your eyes as you thinking about what just transpired. This was nothing like before. He'd never said 'I love you', ever. You take a moment to regain your thoughts, heart thumping wildly.
By this point, your hopes had soared like never before, the small part of you that still believes you can have something with Simon begins crawling out of you — coming back alive.
"Si-" You start as you catch your breath and lift your head slightly to look at him.
"Sorry." He mumbles lifting himself from your body, plopping himself on the pillow beside you.
There's nothing but silence for a few minutes. A part of you wants nothing more than to confront him, get him to face his feelings. But you know Simon and that if you did that, he'd panic.
So, you wait. And wait. And wait.
Until he coughs.
"I have to go. Supposed to meet the boys in an hour." He grumbles, fumbling around to get himself off the bed and find his clothes.
Your heart breaks. Was he really going to go away for a few months without talking about what just happened? You had to make a choice. Either speak now or forever hold your peace.
"Simon." You speak with such a finality in your tone that it renders Simon frozen. He pauses putting his pants back on and stares up at you, terrified.
"I love you." You say, loud and clear. You've told him you loved him in the throes of passion and in the sleepy haze of early mornings, but never when both of you were wide awake. Like a secret that's only meant to be whispered so as to not let it get snuffed out.
You see his eyes widen for a fraction of a second. He seems to debate what he wants to say. You badly wish for him to just say something, anything at all.
He doesn't.
Simon continues to put on his pants and slip his shirt over his head. Once he finally gains the courage to look at you once more, he had to clear his throat. The forlorn look on your face would haunt him until the day he dies.
He knows you love him so deeply and honestly, that there was no questioning your devotion to him. He knows that you feel for him so deeply, you'd rather hurt yourself over and over than let him go.
But he's also once harbored care and affection to someone, fighting side-by-side with someone he thought was going to never stop speaking gibberish in his ear.
If Simon almost couldn't survive losing Johnny, there was no way you were going to survive losing him.
With his heart in his throat, Simon stares at you, fighting back tears that threaten to escape. God, he wants to kiss you. He wants to kiss you and tell you he loves you more than anything in this world. That he'd fight through any battlefield with broken limbs just to come home to you. But he knows he can't give you that promise. That promise that he's going to die of old age with you.
He expects you to cry or scream, but nothing in the world would be able to heal the way Simon's heart breaks when you only give him a sad smile.
"That's okay. I know you're not selfish enough to love me back."
He knows he should just leave, but he can't help himself from hurting you once more. Simon steps forward, cradles your head in his hands and lay a kiss atop your head.
And then, he leaves.
2K notes · View notes
sweet-as-an-angel · 1 month
Text
Ghost, Simon & You [SMUT]
Tumblr media
Warnings: 18+, Smut, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Implied Breeding Kink, Implied Forced Pregnancy, Stomach Bulging, Possessive! Ghost, Kinda Evil! Ghost, Simon and Ghost are Separate People in the Same Body, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.
Backed up! Simon who uses you as his personal cum dump whenever he returns from deployment. You know you’re in for an absolute pounding when you hear him banging on your front door, only to see him standing there, tall and dark as a shadow, looking down at you with an almost manic gaze.
He hasn't even been home to change first, still clad in his balaclava, eye paint and the under-layers of his tactical attire. He pushes his way in, kicking the door shut behind him with his boot and pressing his lips to yours. It doesn’t matter that you can’t feel his skin, that he’s almost crushing your skull as he grips your cheeks and brings you as close as physically possible, that you can taste gunpowder, dust and death on his mask. That this isn’t Simon at all, but the unholy spirit that possesses him. 
Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.
It also doesn’t matter that he literally tears your shirt from your body, a rumble reverberating through his chest when he sees you without underwear. You were expecting him. Good.
Simon – Ghost – is never gentle when it comes to the first round. He never strips all the way down, either, always leaving his mask on, too. He just yanks his pants down as far as necessary before pressing the hard, aching, weeping tip of his cock to your entrance, pushing in with neither care, nor restraint.
He sees the way you fist the sheets, face down against the mattress but your cries still managing to reach him. He just doesn’t care. Especially when your familiar warmth encompasses him, pulls him into the here and now.
It’s at this point that Ghost sees why Simon loves being around you so much, loves being with you. In you.
His member protrudes, a bump in your stomach evident like a tombstone. Whenever you try to press it, try to flatten your hand against it to get a feel for just how big it is, he takes your wrists in his hands and presses them against the mattress. The message is clear: you don’t interfere. I’ll cum when I say so, not by your hand.
Ghost doesn’t stop until you’re raw and red and leaking with either his or your juices, a ring of white forming at the base of his shaft where you can’t fit any more of his length inside you. You feel it, pulsating and battering and alive in your middle, feeling as if it’s nudging everything else out the way so it can lie uninhibited inside your warm cavern.
He’s hard and fast, rough yet thorough. He never leaves an inch of you unmarked, unbruised, by the time he’s done. Whether he’s aware or not, you always end up finishing first, your walls tightening and pulsating around Ghost’s cock as he continues to abuse your hole, hitting your most sensitive point over and over again, prolonging your orgasm and leaving you utterly spent yet satisfied.
When Ghost cums, it’s long, hard and hot. So, so hot – as if the all fire of his anger he’s had building up these last few months is now cradled within you, an unspeakable offspring. He never immediately pulls out. No, he waits, hands about your waist, no doubt bruises from where he’s gripped you, where he’s kept you so he can make sure you don’t crawl away.
His load is thick and there’s so much of it – you feel like you’re being filled past full.
If you’re capable and fertile, he often considers not giving you birth control after the fact, rather letting you stay dormant in bed and tying you up so you have no choice but to let his seed take. The idea never fails to send a shiver down his spine, making him hard all over again as the image of you, bedbound and incapacitated by his hand is enough to make him retreat to another room just so he doesn’t act on the fantasy. 
The look on Simon’s face, he often wonders, when he finds you’re marked as Ghost’s, carrying a permanent reminder that he got to you first; when he realises that the creature he entrusts his dirty work to, his militant alter ego, has utterly ravaged and claimed you from the inside out.
The horror. The futility of apology. It’s enough to satiate Ghost for now. Enough, enough.
And with that, he pulls out, taking the blazing heat of his body with him. He leaves you on the bed, ass up, face down, with his cum dripping out of you. Leaves you for Simon to clean up, to deal with. 
And to your side does Simon come rushing, for once Ghost removes his mask, so does he the haze he casts over his unwilling creator, letting him return to humanity. The vague pulsing of his member, the wetness coating it and the sheen of sweat clinging to Simon’s body is enough to let him know – remind him – what’s happened.
He comes to your aid, scooping you up in his arms and tending to you in every way he knows how - in every way that’s routine. He apologises, over and over, for letting Ghost do this you, for letting him have his way with you, for not being able to protect you–
You shush him. Look at him with kind eyes. You tell him you’re happy to do it, that you’d rather it be you than anyone else, that you wouldn’t be doing it if you didn’t love Simon. Which you do. Monumentally. And Simon loves you, too. He just fears that Ghost may be growing to love you, too – in ways he shouldn’t. 
He feels him now, watching you bathe, sweeping over the bruises on your wrists, your hips and waist, the pressure in the back of his head mounting as Ghost lusts for the control to do it all again.
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist
AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account
4K notes · View notes
just-a-sewer-goblin · 3 months
Text
Simon tries very hard to keep Ghost from coming home to you. Ghost has no place in your arms, in your shared bed or your bright apartment.
But sometimes Ghost clings to him. Sometimes the mission went on too long, was too intense and Ghost clings to him like an annoying tick that you can't get off without leaving the head in.
You know that it's hard for him. You know how much he tries to shake off the gruffness and distance he carefully builds up for missions. And you don't mind. Sometimes Simon's shadow, entereing your home with him, is Ghost shaped.
But Simon doesn't like it. Doesn't want to taint your light with Ghost, doesn't want to be anything than his best for you.
So you both found easy ways to convey when he is more Ghost than Simon. When he comes home and talks to you in short commands. When he comes home and flinches when you touch him without warning. He doesn't mean to. He knows you would never hurt him, but it happens anyway.
You started calling him Ghost when he's still in that mindset. And the shock of hearing your sweet voice use his callsign is enough to startle Simon back into existence.
He comes home, tired and weary, throws his bag into the corner and bangs his fist against the front door. Pent up, angry, aggressive, the adrenaline followed him home.
He hears your naked feet on the floor and sharpy turns around. He sees you, but can't shake off Ghost. You can see it in his stance and in his eyes, the rest of him hidden behind the mask.
He wants to tell you that he's back home but it's not Simon speaking when he says: "Mission complete." You smile, a timid, small thing. It tugs on Simons heartstrings. How much he missed your smile.
You take a step forward and see his stance get more defensive. The way your gaze softens even more cracks something inside of him.
"Welcome home, Ghost.", you say and he stills. Like a statue he stands before you and closes his eyes slowly. Deliberately keeping them closed long enough that if you wanted to you could hurt him. But you don't.
When he opens his eyes Ghost is gone. "Hi, sweetheart. Missed you. Missed you so damn much."
And you rush forward into his arms, wrapping yourself around him, protecting him from the cold and harsh reality of his life.
"I love you, Simon." It sounds so easy when you say it. As if loving him is natural to you.
With your arms around him, he rips off his mask and hugs you tighter, burrows his head in your neck. "I love you too, darling."
2K notes · View notes